


A New Beginning

by LittlesWords



Category: Harry Potter - Fandom, Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Harry Potter and the Cursed Child - Thorne & Rowling, The Cursed Child - Fandom
Genre: Angst, M/M, Not 1st Person, Oneshot, POV Scorpius Malfoy, Scorbus, Scorpius Malfoy - Freeform, Sorry Not Sorry, Sweet love, a little fluff, albus potter - Freeform, blame this on voltron, enjoy, heartwrench?, just pure agony, mayhaps?, more on keith kogane, not even, sweet scorpius, sweetest scorpius
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-14
Updated: 2018-11-04
Packaged: 2019-01-17 00:23:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,302
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12353583
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LittlesWords/pseuds/LittlesWords





	1. Chapter 1

Everything is ready!

The tables is laid with the dark-red table cloth that Albus loves, the silverware is polished by the strength of hand, the cream white napkins are folded like small swans, and three ghost-white candles in the candelabrum does it as the cherry on top. Scorpius hasn't been able to sit still for more than five minutes all day from the bubbling excitement in his chest - Albus is coming home tonight! His job required that he stayed abroad for seven months to gain some 'foreign experience'. Yes, he visited him but the Ministry of Magic thought it to be a good idea for him to also gain some foreign experience, so they landed him a job in the MACUSA, where he hardly had time to actually see his Albus. They’d been able to enjoy some weekdays and the weekends together, but in the three months he’d been there, he’d had more dates with his IMOL-team (International Magical Office of Law) than his boyfriend, which, frankly, sucked dragon balls.

Oh, how his heart had been hurting when they said goodbye at the airport… he really wished that it was possible to apparate intercontinentally, so he hadn’t needed to sit alone in that lonely aircraft cabin for thirteen hours all together, thinking about how much he already missed his Albus, but even magic has its limits. But now the wait is over, Albus texted him hours ago that he was in transition in New York, that he'd fly at 10.45am and that the flight would take good seven hours. Now there couldn’t be more than three-three and a half hour left, but Scorpius has already prepared everything down into the smallest detail such as the napkins, the bed linen, the ring.

The ring.

Scorpius gets up so quickly that the chair almost falls back; he knows, he knows, he checked that it’s in its green velvet box, but just to be on the safe side, he checks it again. There it is… it’s extremely simple yet beautiful. A silver band with a green streak in, and a tiny diamond in the middle. Albus thought that silver looked better against his brown skin (any colours looked pretty on him in Scorpius’ opinion) so he’d gone with that, and in their house’s colours.

Over time Albus had grown to love being in Slytherin, and he’d taken pride in wearing its colours. And it was fitting since, after all, they’d met there. Or not entirely, we all know the story, but the fact is that Albus only deserves the best, so here Scorpius is with a wedding ring in their house’s colours and butterflies in his stomach. His head starts to spin when he thinks about that they've been together for ten years now - ten years! The memories from the christmas break, the day trip to Hogsmead and the Yule Ball stood clear as crystal in his memories still. They'd only just had time enough to celebrate Albus' 26th birthday in March before he had to leave for Seattle. He wanted to propose earlier but he didn't want to make it harder when they had to be apart for so long. Scorpius looks up at the clock on the wall, bouncing his leg. _Is time usually this slow?_ he thinks, brows furrowed, while twiddling the box in his fingers. He puts it back on the table next to his plate before he stands up to aimlessly walk around in the flat.

Every time he enters the open plan kitchen and living room, he glances up at the IKEA-clock on the wall, then over to the circle of photos, both magical and muggle-photos, on the opposite wall; he’s quite sure that his favourite is the muggle-photo of Albus looking down with such a soft smile, pushing some of his thick hair away from his eyes. Either that or the magical photo of Albus posing with water to his thighs where a big wave flushed over him so he fell, and ended up on the shore again. Scorpius chuckles at the memory while his eyes wander to one of the other wizarding photos; Albus and him are dancing in front of a fountain, red, golden and brown autumn leaves whirling around their feet on the grey pavement. Scorpius slumps down in a chair with a groan, rubbing his face, and taps his foot against the table leg, impatiently. Wondering if it’s possible to travel into the future, damn, he’s antsy! All he’s waiting for is a text that his Albus is on his way to get his luggage, then he’ll apparate! _Plop_! Then he’ll hold Albus close in his arms...

His eyes runs across the room to a picture frame with seashells cast in clay in the shape of a heart with their initials in the middle made of smaller seashells. They'd collected them on a holiday a few years ago; it had been so... sappy; holding hands, sitting by the sea and watching the waves, collecting seashells, fire in the fireplace, hot chocolate while enjoying stupid american TV-shows and sleepless nights. Stargazing, of course!

Scorpius decides that he might as well just kill the bloody time; he grabs the box with the ring, and walks around in his search for the TV-remote. It can just run in the background while he, yeah, waits. Jesus, where did he put it...? Maybe it's where Albus last left it? But that can be... anywhere... in the flat. He groans, and starts to search the flat; Albus has a bad habit of picking up stuff and then leave it where he stands, when he's done with it, resulting in Scorpius finding their car-keys on the bathroom sink, or a fork in their bed after late night snacking. It's annoying but he misses it. A lot. He misses Albus' wide, sheepish smile when he raises a brow and waves whatever object that has ended up in the wrong place, he misses the way Albus will try to make him forget by putting up such an innocent attitude, promising him 'he'll never leave the TV remote on the shoe-racket again' before his hands wanders up under his shirt, and - the shoe-racket!

Damn right, there it is! But all this searching and thinking has made Scorpius lose his interest in the TV. He puts the remote back where it should be, and ends up trotting around again. It's too early to start on the dinner and the dessert, he's already done the shopping, maybe he should go out and buy another bottle of wine? Yes, he'll do that. Then he'll get some fresh air! He grabs his coat and puts on his shoes, but ends up tying them wrongly, occupied by his thoughts - or the lack of them, in this case. He finally gets the bows right, and leaves. Albus likes a good red wine, but Scorpius already bought a really good one down from the liqour store, and he knows that Albus doesn't like it when he spends too much money on him. Scorpius rounds a corner before he realises he forgot his wallet back in their flat. Merlin's cursing left testicle! He sighs deeply, as he turns on his heel, walking all the way back and up to the fourth floor. Where did he put it...? There! When did he put it on the counter? Oh well. Down the stairs again, out of the door and round the corner.

The guy behind the counter smiles when he sees Scorpius, and says that he came there yesterday. Scorpius says he forgot to buy an extra bottle, smiling sheepishly. The guy asks him if it's for his girlfriend, a question he avoids most beautifully by telling him he wants to know more about this Andalusien red wine. He regrets it right after when the guy starts what feels like an hour long talk about the grapes and the way they're handled. The wine dude drone on for ages, and all Scorpius can think of is how Albus might react when he pops the question w _ill you marry me?_ ; will he cry ? Will his eyes sparkle like the first time he said _I love you_? When it has taken too long, he puts up a polite smile, and tells wine guy that his lover will soon be home, so he really must get going. 135 quid, they weren't sorry! he thinks when he leaves the liqour store with a paperbag in hand. On his way back, he can't help but notice all the happy couples around him, holding hands and sharing pockets in the chilly October afternoon. The weather somehow reminds him of a song from years ago. What's the name...  _lust for life_... the song reminds him of Albus. He can't wait for Albus to come home so he can pamper him to the moon and back! Then he'll hold Albus close in his arms...

Once back in their flat, he puts the bottle on the counter. There can't be a lot of time left until - HOW IS THERE STILL THREE HOURS LEFT!?

Gosh, time isn't this slow usually, is it? Scorpius groans as he taps his fingers on the green box that's on the counter where he left it. He decides that his plan earlier on letting the TV run in the background is the best right now, and takes the remote, turning on the TV; the TV starts up on ITV3, guh, a lot of dramas, Scorpius doesn’t have the brains for that right now; he zaps through a bunch of different channels, _channel5_ , _channel4_ , _ITV_ (are they rerunning Lewis, no, ok, then it doesn’t matter), _CBBC, CBeeBies_ , _BBC FOUR_ , _BBC TWO_ , _BBC ONE_ , _BBC News_ , _ITV+1_ -

Scorpius zaps back on BBC News where a news anchor sits with a grave face.

_“... a Boeing 787 flying at 10.45am, our time, from New York to London, crashed about two hours ago over the middle of the Atlantic Ocean. Already now I can sadly report that none of the crew or passengers have survived.”_


	2. Aftermath

_Pain – that’s all I can remember. When I heard the news. The grey news-anchor_ _'s face_ _, her_ _dull_ _expression_ _as she attempted to sympathise._ _All I’d done the whole day was wait. Wait for the right moment. Wait for his text. Wait for his embrace. Now it’s only a thing I can dream of, a thing I can only dream about. But I don’t. I can’t dream anymore. I lay down and close my eyes, only to wake up_ _after succumbing to twelve hours of dark unconsciousness_ _._ _Sometimes twelve, other times four but most times perhaps an hour or two. When the newspapers caught up and covered the crash, I read that the plane had_ _mostly_ _been filled with families. It breaks my heart when I think about them. Families of three or more, clutching each other’s hands, praying to God for their lives. But God didn’t listen. I wonder what He was thinking. They say that God is just and fair, and that there is a reason in His actions. But where is the fairness? Where is the reason? What reasons were there behind those families’ deaths?_

_But what breaks my heart even more is that they were surrounded by their loved ones._ They  _had someone to clutch, to pray with, to tell them how much they were loved._

_No. It doesn’t break my heart. It makes me boil with anger._

_Albus didn’t have anyone to clutch on to. Did he clutch the medallion I know he brought with him? Did he clutch his wand, desperately trying to save himself and the rest? Did he realise that he didn’t have the powers to save them all? Why didn’t he save himself then? Maybe his wand wasn’t by his side. Maybe it snapped when he tried to get. So many maybes, so few answers. So many questions... why do I wake up and turn to the right but he’s not there? Why is it a lifeless, dull picture on the bed stand and not him? Why do I wake up to an empty, cold spot next to me? Why do I even wake up? My Albus lying on the ocean floor in a bed of metal scraps and British Airways blankets. A funeral held for an empty casket – how stupid. No matter how much you try to imagine that there is a body in it, you can’t. Not when you know where the body is. Where_ he _is. I don’t know what would hurt more – not knowing where he was or knowing where he is but knowing his body can’t be retrieved? I only know of the latter and I will tell you this... it_ fucking  _hurts._

_I stand up and pull the string of the lamp, turning the lights off. The walls of the hall towards the bedroom have been stripped from pictures of Albus. I don’t want them there. They are in a box somewhere. It’s too painful to look at them. I crawl into bed and lay there, staring at the white ceiling. There's a dent that Albus meant looked like an angel. Blindly, I stare at it, trying to warp the shape into an angel. I can’t. He used to say that_ _angels watch over the world. That you could hear them call. They follow our daily lives, give us a little push to the left if we’re about to walk into a road sign, or make us trip into the arms of our loved one._

_I turn to the right, staring at the photo of Albus. How I wish it was a wizard photo so I could see his lips part in a smile, how it wrinkled by his green eyes. But it’s not. It’s just a stupid muggle photo._


End file.
